


I Haven't Gotten Used to That

by OracleGlass



Category: Constantine (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OracleGlass/pseuds/OracleGlass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The flip side of my story "Things Known and Unknown." Angela muses on the odd shape her life has taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Haven't Gotten Used to That

Last night, I dreamed about John for the sixth night in a row. I suppose I should find this disconcerting, but given our recent past history, I know it was only to be expected. Once a door has been opened, you have to expect that certain things will walk in, and John was both the man with the set of lockpicks and the one most likely to ignore the "No Trespassing" sign.

Each dream starts out the same way. I'm looking up at John's face through water, and it wavers and dances as I blink. His hand is on my chest, and it hurts. I'm starting to panic, thrashing in the water, but he doesn't let me up and I can't help it. I inhale. Instead of water flooding into my lungs, I choke on hot air, stale and full of sulfur. Something inside me cracks open.

From then on, each dream takes me somewhere else.

Once, I found myself walking down a street in a city I didn't recognize. I have what I think is my LAPD badge pinned to my shirt, but when I look down at it I realize it's an Old West star that has the words "Sheriff Angela" printed on it. John walks next to me, smoking a cigarette, and I turn to say something to him and see a man running towards us. I raise a gun and shoot him in the face. John and I watch the shreds of skull and brain fly into the air, like a rose blooming. "Well," says my dream-John. "I see you've gone insane. That will make things easier."

Another night, I find myself in his apartment, just as it looks in real life. It's full of a thin haze, maybe from cigarettes which he allegedly no longer smokes. I'm stretched out on his bed, and he's got my hands pinned above my head and although I'm looking at his face, I can't tell if he's scowling or smiling. My legs are wrapped around those slender hips of his, and as he pushes into me, I know that there's somebody in the room watching us.

When I wake up from that dream, I discover that my hand is tucked into my panties, and my nipples are so hard that they hurt where they press against my t-shirt.

I'm not sure what all this means, if anything. Well, no – the dreams should mean something, now that I've…had my eyes opened. Shouldn't they? Isn't that the point? Although if they're prophetic dreams, I'm apparently destined to become a mass murderer, in between sprees of angry sex. Somehow, I don't think that's exactly how God's plan for me is supposed to go, although from my new vantage point, I've discovered that a whole bunch of things I never thought possible might indeed be in God's plan.

John hates it whenever I use the phrase "God's plan."

I'm hidden the Spear somewhere I think is safe. At first, I balked when John handed it to me, encased in a brick of salt and wrapped in brown paper that has words written on it in an alphabet I've never seen before. They slide sideways when I try to look at them. I haven't gotten used to that yet.

"Use your instincts," he said, when I protested that I didn't know a safe place for it. He watched me reach for it, and I take it from his hands, noticing how strong they are, how deft. Before John, I never noticed a man's hands before. So much of my life is starting to shake down into Before John and After John. I haven't really gotten used to that, either.

My instincts have led me across the country, to a city I hardly know, to a hotel room where all I do is dream of John Constantine in every imaginable situation. Some instincts.

I wonder if I'll see him again. I wonder what I'll say.


End file.
